You wanna do WHAT, Moochelle?

So, Moochelle Antoinette, the First Lady of WagyuLand and Vacationista Extraordinaire, wants to cure my obesity? Are you kidding me?


The White House consumes more Wagyu Beef than the city of Kobe, Japan, and don't give me that "monounsaturated fat brings down cholesterol" argument. The stuff may taste like velvet (especially if you like to eat raw meat which is how you more or less have to eat Wagyu) but the fat content is through the roof.

You want me to take diet advice from people who are pictured on vacation every couple weeks stuffing their suck-holes full of ice cream?


Is it me, or does POTUS eat ice cream like he used to do gay porn? We report, you decide.....

You want me to take eating advice from people who nominated a chubby country clinic doctor who once worked as an adviser to noted healthy-food purveyors Burger King to be the Surgeon General?

She wants me to change my eating habits but can't get her own husband to change his smoking habits?You want me to take advice from someone who wears a boob belt to restrain the roll?

(Massive thanks to Snarky Basterd at Feed Your ADHD for a part of this Ultimate Boob Belt Collage)


Maybe she can be on my next wave of SadMeal™ packages? You remember those, right?

I'm sure her scowling mug will keep kids from eating them, and the Left by then will have already forced the toys from the packaging.....

Sad Meal Update: Evidence of my Genius

As you might recall, I made mention of various sauces to accompany the Sad Meal.
http://mojosteve.blogspot.com/2009/02/sad-meal.html

In searching the Web, I found that my ideas aren't really all that far off the mark after all....there already exists a Wasabi sauce in Asia.


So the next time your kid acts up, feed the little bugger a SadMeal™. You'll feel better knowing that they're miserable as you enjoy yourself.

Ba-da-da-da-daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.....they're hatin' it!

You followin' me? 'Cause we can't do this all day.....

The Apocalypse is Nigh. They ran outta nuggets.

Why? Why do people have to be so damnably stupid?

I eat out a few times a month, and occasionally something isn’t the way I wanted it. Sometimes I just suck it up, since often in life there are more important things to get riled up about, but at other times I’ll make sure that it’s made right. However, in all of my nearly 40 years of turning oxygen into carbon dioxide have I ever felt the compulsion to dial 911 over a botched restaurant order. I mean, I’ve had to get a manager over things like something that felt like a pebble in my corned beef hash, or a weensy green inchworm that shimmied his way across a plate from a piece of unwashed garnish leaf, and both of those got me a free meal. But to call 911? But wait…I’m ahead of myself here.

Latreasa L. Goodman, 27, made three calls to 911after she tried to get her money back from a Fort Pierce McDonald's and the cashier told her all sales were final. It seems that they were out of McNuggets, and Goodman snapped. I guess fried niblets of processed chicken goo are a crisis situation of Biblical proportions.

Police released the 911 tapes, and holy shit they’re positively hysterical.
"This is an emergency. If I would have known they didn't have McNuggets, I wouldn't have given my money, and now she wants to give me a McDouble, but I don't want one," police quoted her as saying. "This is an emergency."

The cashier suggested she choose something else off the menu of equal value to the McNuggets, and offered up a cheeseburger called the McDouble. (This is the cheap replacement for the Double Cheeseburger off the 99-cent value menu. Instead of two pseudo-beef flakes and two slivers of something akin to cheese, there’s only one cheese-like sliver. This saves Ronald McDonald at least 2 cents a burger in profits.)
"She's trying to force me to eat something off the menu and I don't want it," Goodman told 911.

Lady, no one held a gun to your head and said you had to eat it or there’d be a 230-grain steel-jacketed hollow-point burrowing through your cerebellum. A lack of McNuggets is not an emergency. Was someone trapped in a burning building? Were the Jaws of Life needed to extricate a victim from a wrecked car? Was a naked wino brandishing a box cutter and singing Gregorian chants? No. It was six chintzy-assed pieces of deep-fried poultry squeezin’s.

And yet, it came to Mizz Goodman as a great surprise when the police arrived, apparently without a SWAT team or helicopter support, and cited her for misuse of the 911 system. I woulda paid good money to watch that little scene unfold. It had to have been utterly priceless.

A McDonald's spokesman said Goodman should have been given a refund, and she's being sent a gift card for a free meal. See, there we go; a happy ending. The minimum wage asstard at the counter should have just done that from the get-go, but I’ve never seen a plethora of rocket scientists running the counter in the middle of the day at the Golden Arches. One noted exception would be the girl I went to school with who managed a McDonald’s through her six years of school while getting her Master’s degree. Sadly, my local establishment is by & large staffed by slack-jawed mouth-breathers who can barely speak your order back to you in something beyond an unintelligible mumble.

Perhaps this calls for one of my patented Sad Meals?
Da-da-da-da-daaaaaaaa…I’m hatin’ it!

The Sad Meal

When I was a kid, going out to eat was a special, treasured event. We generally ate at home and only went to a restaurant maybe once a month when I was little, and only slightly more often than that as I hit my teens. If you misbehaved, you certainly weren’t going to be taking a trip to Mickey D’s to yummy down on burgers & fries, let alone a sit-down meal somewhere. You don’t reward kids when they’re bad, despite what the common practice is as of late.

Nowadays, eating out happens all the time and kids are so used to it that it’s no longer all that special, but rather just the norm. Kids just expect that Happy Meal any time they want, no matter how bad and bratty they’ve been. They could burn down half the neighborhood with a can of WD-40 and a Bic lighter, and by God they’ll be pumped full of salt & cholesterol and rolling in that bacteria-laden ball pit in Ronald’s Playland before the end of the evening news.

But what if I’m the one craving a Big Mac, or I realllly don’t wanna cook, but my kid just drew a stick figure with a giant penis on the wall at school? Or he just flushed a tennis ball down the toilet?

Call me Old Skool but I can’t see carting an ill-behaved little turd out for fast food and a toy. Should I be forced to forego my own culinary self-destruction just because my kid’s a shithead? No way, man. I’m ordering my kid a SadMeal™.

A SadMeal™, you say? Indeed, dear reader.

A Happy Meal comes in a brightly colored decorative box full of cartoons, smiles, and a puzzle or two. A choice of a burger of nuggets, fries, and a drink, plus a cheap-assed lead-painted trinket toy from China geared towards whatever Hollywood crapfest is being pushed that week. A veritable Kinder-Nirvana.

Not so with a SadMeal™.

A SadMeal™ comes in a non-descript, plain cardboard box that feels a bit rough and sandpapery, with the only real decoration being the disapproving scowl of Rosie O’Donnell. Instead of a fun puzzle or activity, your little penitent is burdened by an algebraic equation.


Instead of a choice of entrees, the choice here lies in the side items. Your little hellion gets the option of a small cup of lima beans or Brussels sprouts. The entrée is a 5-piece order of Liver McNuggets. We’re not total animals; the kid also gets to choose his/her dipping sauce. The choices are: Painful Wasabi, Olde English Malt Vinegar, Nguoc-Nam Vietnamese Fish Sauce, or our own special McBlender Sauce of Dill Pickle Juice, Anchovies, Cayenne Pepper, and Sea Salt. You can still opt to give your kid a soda should you choose, but we offer only Moxie soda with the SadMeal™, or you can also opt for an ice-cold carton of fresh asparagus juice.


Yeah, man. Punishment rations for bad kids, and the best part: no toy, and they get to watch you enjoying your meal. Da-da-da-da-daaaaaaah….you’re hatin’ it!